Punishment
by Kenta Klein
Summary: Hetalia x-over with "The raven" By Edgar Allen Poe.


**My Other stories got deleted! Idk why…they where only slightly violent…slightly….**

**I didn't save them 'cause I'm smart like that! *shot***

**This is a new story which is somewhat of a strange crossover between 'Hetalia' and ****The Raven, ****By Edgar Allen Poe. I like dark depressing, creepy stories so if Edgar Allen Poe scares you then this probably isn't the story for you. This also Inclueds my OC character, she doesnt appear in the story but is mentioned. **

**If you have seen hetaoni this takes place after that.**

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Pale green curtains fluttered in the warm August wind. The clock had long since tolled midnight, yet it was still warm and humid in the old Kentuckian home. The windows where all swung wide, inviting the non-existent cool air into the house. The breeze brought no sound. The old house did not creak. Not a cricket was present. All was more silent than death itself.

Japan stood by the window, looking out at the endless fields of grass and goldenrods. The field glowed a beautiful silver in the light of the full moon. The grass swayed as if dancing in the breeze. A few gold-turned silver petals flew off into the sky every now and then. It was a wonderful sight that few had seen. But the Japanese man saw no beauty in any of it. All he saw was blood. The deep red blood of the girl he had loved and lost in the hell that was the mansion. He saw her blood covering the fields. The horrible, deathly silence would not let him forget of what he had lost. Her screams still rang out in his mind as if they were a song stuck in his head. A horrible song that he would bash his head open on a table in order to remove it from his mind. He had considered doing so a few times. Considered suicide. He wanted to die. Wanted to be with Kenta again. He knew it was selfish to rid himself of the pain when Kenta's siblings were also suffering. But that was the only thing keeping himself from pulling the trigger.

Tears had become so familiar to him he was unaware of them cutting a path now his cheeks. Completely unaware of his own soaked shirt and the salty tang of the tears making their way into his mouth.

A raven flew over to the open window and landed on the window sill.

Japan stared at it blankly. "I guess there is someone living here after all." He murmured, more to the raven than himself.

"Nevermore." The raven responded, It's golden eyes seemed full of sadness.

"Nevermore…I suppose so." The Japanese man responded. He was so lost in sorrow that he did not find it in the least bit odd to talk to a raven. Or for it to respond. "I know how westerners see you. To them you are the Devil's messenger. Come to tell me my time is up. Correct? Tell me, will I see her in the afterlife?" Japan whispered.

"Nevermore." The raven responded.

"Will I ever be with her again?"

"Nevermore." Came the reply.

Japan was shaking slightly. "So you've come to take me to hell."

"Nevermore." The raven assured him.

"Where am I to go then? Am I not to die?"

"Nevermore." The Raven's eyes had become red. The thick, dark, blood red that sent a knife threw Japan's heart.

"If you are not here to kill me than leave!" He yelled, throwing a book at the bird.

"Nevermore." The bird responded. It's tone had yet to change. The book had been thrown straight at the bird but did not hit it. It was as if the raven was non-existent. But it was there.

"Get out! Leave me to my grief!"

"Nevermore."

Japan glared at the bird with cold hatred. "Are you ever to leave?"

"Nevermore."

"Am I ever to die?"

"Nevermore."

Nations are immortal. They can never die and he knew that.

The Raven-Japan realized-was his punishment. He had caused Kenta to die. He had let her die. He did nothing to help her and left her side when she needed him most. It was all him fault. And the devil had sent his messenger to him to remind him of that.

The raven was always there. With the answer to everything. Always reminding him that it was his fault and that he would never again be with the one he loved.

Nevermore.

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**Not as dark and creepy as I wanted it to be but It will do for now. Edgar Allen Poe is a master of horror, not horror in the sence of blood and gots, but horror as in psycological horror. his stories twist you're mind around and make you want to scream. No one is a good a horror writter as he was. **

**Or atleast that's my opinion XD**

**He was also a very strange man with a bizarre life...kinda feel sorry for him.**

**anyway, I hoped you liked the story and will review.**

**No flames please!**

**Sorry for any grammer or spelling errors. Grammer is not my friend! *stabs grammer***


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